The Wrong Girl

by CJ Archer

"You!" Sylvia gasped. "How...?" She let the sentence dangle unfinished, but I knew what she was thinking. How could three diverse people have the same ability?

  "Are we related?" I asked. "You, Jack and I? Is there some connection between us?"

  "We're not blood relatives." His voice sounded disembodied, and it was difficult to tell from which direction it came. "However there is a connection."

  Metal scraped and a chain rattled, a macabre sound in the darkness. Sylvia whimpered and clung tighter to me. There was some comfort in her closeness. It would have been worse to be alone.

  "Mr. Tate, sir," came a slurring, heavy voice. It belonged to a man and he wasn't near us, but that's all I knew. I didn't recognize the speaker. Whispers followed as Tate and the other man exchanged words. I strained to hear, but caught nothing.

  "Light something," Sylvia said, voice low.

  "I can't."

  "Just try it."

  I flicked my fingers out. Nothing happened. I snapped and shook them, but still no heat rose, no sparks flew. "Damn," I muttered.

  Tate chuckled. "Are you trying to form a flame, Miss Smith? You ought to know by now that it's futile." He seemed to have finished his conversation with the other man, but I could see no one else in the darkness. Not even a shadow.

  "Why?" Sylvia asked.

  "I've tried to control it," he said. "Tried to create it when I wanted it and stop it when I didn't. I failed, time after time. As you would have too, Miss Smith."

  "But—"

  I pinched Sylvia's arm, and she fell silent. I didn't want her telling Tate anything that may be to our advantage. If he didn't know that Jack could start fires at will, then Jack could take him by surprise when he came. If he wasn't already there.

  Oh Jack, where are you?

  Someone grunted. It came from the far end of the factory. It could have come from the slurring stranger, but I didn't think so.

  "Jack?" I called out at the same time Sylvia did. "Jack, is that you?"

  "It's me," came Tommy's thick, sleepy voice.

  "Tommy!" Sylvia let me go, but I held her back.

  "Wait," I whispered.

  She said nothing for a few pounding heartbeats, then called out, "Tommy? Are you all right?"

  The chain rattled again, followed by more grunting. "Bloody 'ell! What's goin' on? Miss Langley? Is that you?"

  "Yes," she said. "Where are you?"

  "Don't know. I can't see a bloody thing. There's chains around my wrists and I can't move my legs."

  Brightness flared in the depths of the factory as Tate lit a gas lamp. The small circle cast yellow light on the prone figure of Tommy lying on a bench, his wrists attached to chains and his ankles cuffed to the table. Dried blood smeared his bottom lip, and a shadowy bruise cupped one eye. Behind him stood a huge man with a jaw shaped like a brick and just as hard. His shoulders were wide and hunched as if he carried a heavy weight on them. His brow bulged over dull, vacant eyes.

  "My God, what have you done to him?" Sylvia cried.

  "He's a friend of yours?" Tate asked. "Ham said he was looking around the factory. I can't allow that. Who is he? Another one of Langley's so-called nephews?"

  "He's our footman."

  Tate tipped his head back and laughed. "Capital! So Langley's sending the servants to do his work for him?"

  "Aren't you?" I said, pointing my chin at the brute behind Tommy.

  "That's Ham, short for Hamley. August isn't the only one who can recruit oversized idiots to work for him."

  "Who're you calling an idiot?" Tommy said, pulling on one of the chains.

  "I was referring to Bollard."

  Whatever Bollard was, he was not stupid. Not like Ham. Both may have perfected that vacant stare, but Bollard's couldn't always hide the shrewdness behind his eyes. I'd wager there were no thoughts of any kind in Ham's mind. If the label of idiot bothered him, he didn't show it.

  "Let Tommy go," I said. "This is nothing to do with him."

  "He shouldn't have been in here," Tate said.

  "Why?" Sylvia asked. "It's not like there's anything worth seeing in this burnt wreck."

  "Let him go!" I shouted.

  Tate moved further into the fuzzy circle of light near Tommy. "Are you getting angry, Miss Smith?" He picked up the lamp and held it high in our direction. "Yes, I believe you are. Very good. I'd like to see what happens. It's been a long time since I've observed the phenomena on another."

  I swallowed, and some of my anger disappeared. It wasn't the reaction I wanted. Despite his wish to study me, spitting fire from my fingertips would have come in quite handy at that moment. "Jack's not here, is he?" I said in the hope the answer would rile me again.

  "No," said Tommy. "I had a good look around before this beast clobbered me." He pointed at Ham and the chain clanked against the bench.

  "Jack's not here," Tate said. "I haven't seen him. What does that mean, do you suppose? Has he left? Is he lost?"

  "I doubt it," Sylvia said.

  I pinched her again and she flinched.

  "Pity. I would have liked to see him after all this time. He was a baby when I last saw him."

  He'd known Jack as a baby? Was that because Jack really was Langley's nephew and as his partner, Tate had seen him? Or was there another reason? Something to do with the fire?

  Tate returned the lamp to the hook hanging from the ceiling near Tommy and stepped back into the shadows. There was only enough light to outline his silhouette. "He was a good baby on the whole, but when he threw a tantrum, he was far more frightening than any child had a right to be."

  I could only imagine. "Were we born with it?" I asked.

  "Hannah, now is not the time to question him about yourself," Sylvia whispered. "We must release Tommy and find Jack. Have you got a plan?"

  "Yes," I lied. "I'm instigating it as we speak."

  I felt her relax a little against me, which I decided was indeed part of my plan. A relaxed Sylvia could think clearer and act faster if necessary.

  "Release Tommy!" I ordered Tate.

  He began to move toward us through the darkness, his silhouette dimly visible until his pale, glistening face emerged from the darkness like a ghost. Sylvia gave a little squeal, and Tate growled, baring his ugly teeth. He pushed her away. It wasn't a hard shove, but she fell to the floor.

  "Sylvia!" I reached for her, but Tate grabbed my arm and pulled me into his side. His breath reeked worse than rancid meat, and heat swamped me. It was like opening an oven door and being blasted by hot air. There were no sparks or flames, but it was almost too hot to bear.

  "Miss Langley! Miss Smith!" Tommy tried to free himself, yanking at his chains and twisting himself about on the bench. It achieved nothing except a great deal of frustration if his grunts and curses were any indication. "What's going on, you cur?" he snarled. "If you harm them, I'll kill you!"

  Tate didn't seem to hear him, or care what he'd done to Sylvia. "Hannah," he said, voice feather-soft in my ear. "Oh, Hannah. I'm so glad you've come back to me. I've been searching for you for a long time. A very long time. Sweet, little baby Hannah." He touched my hair, my cheek. I turned my face away, but he let go of my arm and grasped my jaw instead, forcing me to look at him. His fingers dug into my skin, crushing the bone. Heat and pain shot from my jaw to my neck and cheeks. I couldn't move my head, couldn't speak. "I've waited years for you. Years. I will not let anyone take you away this time. I need you."

  The man had only one arm. Surely I could free myself. I tried pulling away, but he held my jaw too hard. My face hurt. My cheeks mashed into my teeth. I punched him in the chest and to my surprise and sheer relief, he grunted and let go.

  "You little monster!" he snarled.

  I raced to Sylvia's side and was about to bend down to her when a thick arm circled my waist and pulled me back. Ham. My feet rose off the ground, and the massive arm held me so tightly I felt like I was being sliced in half.

  "Let go!" I screamed, clawing at Ham's arm and kic
king out at Tate who stood in front of me. I missed and Ham made no sounds of pain as I shredded his shirtsleeve and drew blood.

  "Hannah!" Sylvia got to her feet and ran to us. Ham deflected her with a fist to her shoulder and she fell onto the floor once more. She slid into a burnt set of drawers with a missing leg. Somehow it had managed to remain upright throughout the fire that had destroyed the factory, but a bump from Sylvia sent it crashing onto the rubble.

  "Sylvia?" I called. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes," came her shaking voice.

  "Bloody 'ell!" Tommy growled. "Let me go! Fight like a man, you one-armed dog."

  I didn't think name-calling was going to achieve much, but I didn't say. I was more worried about the brute squeezing me. I couldn't breathe.

  "Easy," Tate said to Ham. "Don't kill her. I need her alive. The other two, however, are unnecessary."

  Sylvia sobbed into her folded arms. Tommy's chains rattled violently and he grunted again as he tried to free himself. Ham eased his grip, but he was too big. I couldn't get away. Not by any conventional means anyway.

  Get angry, get angry, get angry.

  It was useless. I was much too afraid. Tears blurred my vision and dripped down my cheeks. Tommy and Sylvia were going to die because of me, and I would become a prisoner again, this time of Tate's. All because I couldn't call on my temper at will. My fear was much too powerful. I'd once thought myself brave—how wrong I'd been.

  A high-pitched grunt had me opening my eyes again, just in time to see Sylvia raising a piece of ceramic pipe above her head.

  But Tate had heard her too, and he turned in time to catch the pipe. He wrenched it from her grip as sparks flew from his fingers and shot in all directions. He had no difficulty growing angry.

  Sylvia fell back onto her rear, but Tate went after her, holding the pipe like a bat. She screamed and put her hands up. I screamed. Tommy shouted and cursed, his chains rattling furiously. Still Tate descended upon her.

  A small light to the right caught my attention. Flames danced atop a piece of broken wood. Tate's sparks must have set it alight. Much of the factory's contents were already burnt to ash, but there was enough left to provide fuel for another fire. Sylvia and Tommy would burn to death, if Tate didn't smash their heads in first.

  He'd been distracted by the fire too, but now he turned back to Sylvia. She cowered on the floor near the fallen drawers, her face buried in her arm, her feet pulled up to make herself as small as possible. Huge, gulping sobs wracked her body.

  "No," I begged Tate. "No, please don't. I'll do whatever you ask. I'll help you willingly with your research if you leave them unharmed."

  "You'll help me anyway. You won't have a choice. I can't leave witnesses." He raised the pipe.

  Something bright whooshed past my ear and slammed into his chest. He fell backward, crashing into burnt tables and equipment, splintering wood and sending objects flying. His eyes and mouth widened in shock. I could see his expression clearly thanks to the bright ball of fire that had sent him reeling and now set his waistcoat alight.

  I turned to see the source of the fireball just as Ham let me go.

  "Jack!" Sylvia cried.

  Jack stood in the open doorway, sucking in deep breaths, his fists at his sides as if he would draw holstered guns. Another man stood a little behind him, his mouth ajar as he took in the scene. I was so relieved to see Jack I almost ran up and hugged him. But there was no time for that. Ham lumbered up to him and swung his massive fist. Jack easily ducked it.

  "Stop!" the stranger shouted. "I am Inspector Ruxton from Scotland Yard, and I command you stop this at once!"

  A policeman. Oh thank God.

  But his announcement changed nothing. It was as if he weren't even there. Ham struck out at Jack, but Jack was fast and dodged it. Indeed, he was so fast it was difficult to distinguish his movements. He must have hit Ham because the man tumbled backwards, but not before he landed a punch that Jack hadn't seen coming.

  Jack grunted and doubled over. The inspector rushed in and ordered them to stop fighting, but Ham swatted him away like an annoying bee. The inspector fell to the floor near Sylvia, hitting his head on the corner of a steel box, rendering him unconscious.

  She checked to see if he still breathed. "He's alive," she said. "Now what do we do?"

  Tommy coughed. "Uh, ladies. Perhaps you can free me before the fire comes any closer." He coughed again and pointed his chin at the fire that had spread from those few sparks of Tate's. It was very near him. Too near.

  I helped Sylvia to stand. "Get out," I ordered.

  "But Tommy!"

  "I'll help him." When she hesitated, I pushed her gently. "I can't burn, Sylvia, you can. Now go, and take Inspector Ruxton with you!" He was making noises on the floor and rubbing his head. If she could get him to stand, she might be able to stumble outside with him. "I can't save Tommy unless you're safe."

  She glanced at Tommy and the fire, so close to him now that he'd turned his face away from the heat. His body shook with his coughs as the smoke filled the small factory. Breathing was difficult for me too, but not impossible. Not yet.

  I might not be able to burn like normal people, but could I die from breathing in the smoke?

  Sylvia whimpered then seemed to come to a decision she was happy with. She nodded and helped the dazed inspector to stand. Together they made it out the door, wheezing and coughing.

  I headed toward Tommy, but Tate stepped in my way before I reached the bench. Sweat trickled down the edge of his hairline and dripped onto the floor. It was hot in the factory from the growing fire, but bearable, yet he looked as if he were melting.

  "I won't give up this easily," he snarled, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I'd lost my hat at some point, and my wild mane had come free of its pins.

  He pulled. I winced, but did not cry out. I didn't want to do or say anything that would distract Jack. He was still locked in battle with Ham and couldn't afford to lose his focus. The brute would see the opening and pound him for sure.

  But why wasn't Jack using his fire on him?

  "Very well," I gasped as my chest constricted with the need to breathe clean air. "I'll do as you ask. Call off your man. Let Jack and Tommy go."

  Tate coughed into his shoulder. "No."

  "Let them go!"

  "Why would I do that?" he had to shout over the sound of wood cracking, and Jack and Ham's grunts and coughs. "It's you I want, not them."

  "But Jack's like us! You need him too." The desperation in my voice betrayed me. I would try anything, say anything, to get them free. Flames crept up the legs of the bench on which Tommy lay, flirting with the bench top. He was coughing uncontrollably, trying to twist himself so that he could bury his mouth and nose in his arm to breathe. I had to get him out.

  "No, Hannah," Tate said. "You're the only one I need. Only you. He's not like us. You saw."

  I didn't know what he was talking about, but there was no time to think. Indeed, thinking had suddenly become very difficult as heat rolled over my skin and smoke filled my chest. Sparks spat from my fingertips and landed near the scorched hole in his waistcoat. Tate casually slapped them out with his hand.

  My fury vanished as fear once more took hold. But this time I would keep my wits about me. Tommy's life depended upon it.

  Tate went to grab me, and I stepped out of his reach. My bustle hit a table, halting my progress. Tate lunged.

  I fumbled behind me, and my fingers touched something solid and long. I picked it up and swung it at his head. It was some kind of tool and it made a very good weapon. Tate crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

  "Miss Smith!" Tommy wheezed.

  I tore off a piece of my skirt at the hem and tied it around my nose and mouth, then tore off another strip. I removed the chains attached to Tommy's wrists and handed him the cloth. He tied it around the lower half of his face as I unclasped the cuffs at his ankles. The bench had caught alight and Tommy had to leap off before his clo
thes suffered the same fate.

  He wove and ducked his way through the wrecked factory to Jack and Ham. The big fellow bled from the nose, but he didn't look any weaker. He swung at Jack, but Tommy caught his arm. He couldn't stop the momentum completely, but he did slow Ham down enough to allow Jack to punch him hard enough to daze him. Tommy and Jack were able to subdue him between them, but all three coughed violently.

  My lungs screamed for fresh air. My chest hurt with the effort to breathe. Smoke made my eyes water and my mouth dry. We had to get out.

  "Anyone still alive in here?" someone called from the entrance.

  "Coming," I rasped as loudly as I could. Whether I was heard over the roar of the fire, I couldn't tell. Smoke and heat whirled around us. Flames flowed like a river across the ceiling, up the walls, eating everything in its path. A beam fell on the bench on which Tommy had lain, and that section of the roof caved in.

  Jack ushered me to the door. He and Tommy held Ham between them, but the thug didn't struggle. I think he wanted to get out of there too. We poured out of the factory and into driving rain just as more of the roof collapsed. Four men relieved Tommy and Jack of Ham. Sylvia caught me in her arms and hugged me.

  I could barely hear her soothing words above the shouts and activity of the men. There seemed to be dozens of them, some in uniform with brass helmets, others in plain workmen's clothing. They wrestled with two thick hoses spurting water onto the factory. It wasn't raining after all.

  "Did you fetch them?" I managed to rasp out between my coughs.

  She nodded and looked over my shoulder. "Tommy, where's Jack?"

  I spun round. Tommy was there, bent over and sucking in air. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

  "He's gone inside!" I cried. I tried to pull away, but Sylvia held me back and Tommy blocked the way. "I have to go in! He's gone for Tate. Let me go, Sylvia, I can help him!"

  "He can do it alone," she said. "Or not at all. I wouldn't care if that villain died in there. Hopefully the smoke will kill him if the fire will not."

  I wasn't sure I cared either, but that wasn't the point. Would Jack abandon the task if it proved hopeless? Or would he try until he could try no more?

  "I won't burn," I said, my voice high, desperate. "Let me help him."

  "No," Tommy said. "You may not burn, but the smoke'll get you." He coughed to emphasize the point.

  "But it'll get Jack too," I said on a whimper. "He can't die in there. He can't!" It wasn't until I tasted salt on my lip that I realized I was crying.

  Sylvia held me tightly and Tommy hovered nearby, ordering the firemen to spray directly through the door. Moments ticked by. I was soaked. We all were, our clothes plastered to our bodies, our hair bedraggled. I didn't care. I just wanted to see him again. He had to be all right. Had to be.

  I needed him.

  Finally he staggered out carrying an unconscious Tate across his shoulders as if he were a log. Two firemen took him and Jack stumbled forward, coughing over and over. Tommy helped him to the side of the house, out of the way, and set him on the ground. Sylvia and I knelt beside him. His lower lip had begun to swell and blood dripped from a cut above his eye. His face was blackened from the soot, as was Tommy's. Mine must have been too, but I didn't care about my appearance. I gently pushed Jack's hair off his forehead, and my fingers immediately began to glow.

  He caught my hand anyway and pressed the palm to his lips. He suppressed a cough and gently kissed the skin at my wrist. Heat rushed through my limbs and I pulled away just in time. A large spark shot from my fingertips and sizzled in the damp earth. I sat back on my haunches, breathing heavily.

  Jack smiled ruefully. "I couldn't help myself. I'm so relieved you're all right."

  "I'm rather glad you're alive too," I said and grinned. If I threw my arms around him, would we combust? I wanted to, so much, that I was almost prepared to try it.

  "What about us?" Tommy said. "Aren't you glad your cousin and I are alive?"

  "Would you like a kiss too?" Jack asked him.

  Tommy sniffed. "Don't think that'll get you off. I'm bloody angry at you for going back in there for that monster."

  Monster. Tate was indeed one, in every sense. It was also the word he'd used to describe me.

  I sat near Jack and pulled my knees up to my chest. It was a very unladylike pose, but I didn't care. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't... I was too scared..."

  "Don't," Jack said. "It's not your fault."

  "But I should have been able to do something. Something like what you did with that fireball."

  "You haven't learned to access the fire at will yet."

  Would I ever?

  "Jack's right," Sylvia said, circling her arm around me. "You did everything you could. You freed Tommy on your own." She hugged me and I hugged her back.

  "You did save me in there," Tommy said quietly. I looked up to see his warm eyes blinking at me. They were filled with tears that didn't spill. "Thank you, Miss Smith."

  "Perhaps you can call me Hannah now," I said.

  "Right then, Miss Hannah." He suddenly grinned. "May I make a request?"

  "Of course."

  "Can you please not leave the rescue 'til the last moment next time?"

  "I don't plan on there being a next time."

  "With you and Jack around?" Sylvia said. "I think you're being overly optimistic."

  The man I'd seen enter the factory behind Jack, Inspector Ruxton, came up to us. He too was wet and he wore no hat, having lost it in the factory. A few strands of brown hair clung to his otherwise bald head. "That was quite a scene in there. How'd you get that flame ball so quick then, eh, Mr. Langley? It seemed to come from nowhere. You some sort of magician?"

  "It's a device," Jack said. "I keep it in my pocket for emergencies."

  "Really? Can I see it?"

  "I lost it in the fire."

  "Shame. I've got an interest in new inventions." He seemed to believe Jack's explanation, thank goodness. "So, that one-armed man...is he the fellow you told me about? The one you accuse of stealing your uncle's papers?"

  "Yes," Jack said, standing. "His name is Reuben Tate."

  "I, uh, I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you first came to the station, sir. It's just that I, uh, thought it better to leave it to your local constabulary."

  "I'm glad I was able to convince you in the end."

  "Not sure I'm so glad." The inspector gingerly touched the back of his head.

  "Did you search the house?"

  "My men are doing it now. So far, no luck. You'd better give me the name of your witness after all. There's no avoiding it now, I'm afraid."

  Jack nodded. "His name is Patrick O'Dwyer."

  Sylvia shifted her weight. Tommy cleared his throat. "Patrick's dead," he said gently. "We found out yesterday. That's why we came here, to warn you."

  Jack sat back down beside me and drew up his knees. He dragged his hands through his hair and lowered his head.

  "I'm sorry." I wanted to stroke his hair and draw him into my arms, but it would only end in sparks and I didn't want the inspector to see, or to start something I couldn't stop.

  Jack thumped a fist into the ground. "He told me Tate was dangerous. I should have listened."

  "We weren't to know how dangerous," I said. "No one could have guessed he was a murderer."

  "And arsonist," the inspector said, nodding at the factory. The blaze was under control, but the brigade-men continued to pour water on it. "The Senior Fireman told me this place has been set alight numerous times and recently too."

  That would explain the new furniture and painted walls in the house. "How many?" I asked.

  "Eight that I know of," said a man as he passed us. He was dressed in one of the brass helmets and woolen tunics of the firemen.

  "Come inside and tell me everything," Inspector Ruxton said to us.

  We walked single-file back along the path at the side of the house to the front door, leaving enough space f
or the firemen and their hoses to pass us. It was early afternoon, but the heavy clouds obscured the sun and allowed little light through. Two horse-drawn fire engines were positioned near the street-plug connected to the city's water supply. Steam hissed and spat from the brass cylinders, pumping the water to the hoses. Several workmen from the nearby factories helped, and others stood by and watched Tate being led to a waiting coach by a constable. Ham was bundled into another by four policemen. Despite having his hands tied, he managed to knock over one of the constables with a bump of his massive shoulder. It took some effort and a lot of foul language, but the others eventually got him into the cabin.

  Tate was more sedate. He simply stared at me with such longing in his gaze that I shivered, despite the heat still coursing through me. He must have seen because his top lip curled up in a distorted smile.

  Jack positioned himself between Tate and me. "Take him away," he growled.

  We went inside and gave our version of events to the inspector, leaving out only the details of how Tate started the fire. Of course none of us had seen how he did it, and the inspector didn't dwell on that aspect. He was more interested in the fact that Tate had chained Tommy up and wanted to kidnap me.

  "A madman," he muttered as he dipped his pen in an inkwell held by one of his constables. He wrote something down in his notebook then blew on it to dry the ink. "Are you four returning to Frakingham tonight?" he asked.

  "Tomorrow," Jack said. "We'll stay at Claridges tonight. The ladies will be tired."

  "The ladies would like to go shopping," Sylvia corrected.

  When all the men looked at her, she merely shrugged. "You cannot expect us to spend another moment in these garments. I'm sure we can organize new dresses from our rooms. It's what all the refined ladies do."

  "For once, I agree with you," Jack said. "We all require new clothes. If you need us, Inspector, you can find us at Claridges."

  We headed outside and skirted the fire engines to reach Olsen and the carriage. We set off, and Tommy alighted at the stables where he'd left the brougham. We three drove on to the heart of London. Jack had offered to get a room for Tommy at the salubrious hotel too, but he'd refused saying he'd feel too awkward in a "toff place." He and Olsen were to stay at an inn they knew nearby.